


Gold of Another Kind

by captain_trashmouth



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - The Golden Fleece, Demigod!Lio, Golden Fleece AU, I have a problem in that I write AUs literally no one asks for, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Sailor!Galo, but with a twist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:27:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22874008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_trashmouth/pseuds/captain_trashmouth
Summary: Now tell me, what do you know of the golden fleece? Treasure is not always what gods and kings say it should be.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	Gold of Another Kind

**Author's Note:**

> literally nobody asks for these AUs but whatever you're going to get it anyway
> 
> shhh shut up and eat this delicious greek food

The shipwreck had happened in an instant. The rocks hidden beneath the waves had broken the hull open as if it were the skull of a man, parted in twain beneath the heavy blow of a labrys. The ship itself and all its contents were smashed to innumerable pieces and swallowed by the sea. Timber and debris floated around him as he was borne toward shore on foam-tipped waves. Each rush of water left him more battered and bruised than before as he and the wreckage both were spat up onto the beach. He should have counted himself among the lucky, for he, unlike the others, still drew breath. The same could not be said for the rest of the crewmen or the soldiers that had chartered the vessel and contracted with its crew. The quest, or ‘simple errand’ as the king had called it, had promised incredible glory and reward for all that attended. Instead, it had led them all to ruin. Perhaps he deserved this, for letting his confidence guide his hand instead of intellect. In a way, he supposed that he had been the architect of his own demise. He lay on the sand next to the driftwood, shell fragments and little rocks poking into his skin. Forcing himself to sit up, his eyes scanned the shoreline for signs of life. Nothing lived here, not on this rocky expanse. The landscape next to the sea was jagged and inhospitable. Not even scrub grasses could cling to such bare stone. His face contorted in pain as he tried to pull himself to his feet, now aware that he was injured from more than just the sea’s rough handling. He pressed his fingers tight to his side to staunch the bleeding, but the stain spread over the linen of his soaked shirt unabated. When the same rocks that had cracked the ship’s boards gnashed their teeth against the main mast, Galo too had been swept up in their rage. The splintering wood had punctured his side with the ease of a needle punching into cloth, driving the fragment in deep and settling it against the bones of his ribs. 

The sharp edges of stones cut into his bare feet and the palms of his hands as he scrabbled up the slope. He made it to the top at the cost of his hands, now cut and bleeding from his fingertips and the jagged edges of broken nails. At the top of the slope, stone gave way to flat meadowland. He left a trail of blood droplets behind him and they were soaked into the porous stone and the dirt as he made his way through the wild green fields that connected the cliff edge to the forested mountain ranges nearby. This same fertile ground that fed the people of this land would soon feed upon him in turn if he did not find shelter soon. Every step caused him to weaken further, the soil soaking up his blood like an offering and returning to the earth. He wiped his brow on the back of his forearm as he stared up at the body of the mountain. It loomed above him like a hungry titan, pressing up against the sky like it was made to hold it up. Lush as the land was, he knew that he would not survive long out here with no fresh water and no food to speak of. All their rations had been lost in the flotsam. Galo wandered on, soothed as his damaged feet sank into the soft grass beneath as he began to navigate his way up the mountainside. Perhaps he would be able to get a better view from there, but it would take hours to traverse and it would be treacherous going. Still, he knew that a signal fire would be more likely to be seen by passing merchant ships if it were lit at a higher elevation. He would also be more likely to see a water source from above. The wound on his side was still raw and exposed, but there was nothing to be done for it. It was no longer bleeding, and that in itself was a blessing. He was exhausted, breathing ragged and heavy by the time he reached even the lowest plateau. His lungs burned with exertion, and he fought hard to drag in even one more breath. His unfocused eyes gazed out over the landscape, drinking in the deep jewel-like green hues of the trees that grew thick and lush in the valley below. He collapsed hard against the side of a boulder, the pain that he had long ignored finally catching up to him and sinking its teeth in. His sleep was unsettled and shallow. He did not dream. 

He woke some unknown number of hours later, and the sun hung low in the sky like overripe fruit. It dripped across the sky, painting it lovely in hues of pastel purple and orange. He’d never seen anything like it, and gods, how lucky he was to be allowed to take his last breath in such a beautiful place. As he lay there, limp and exhausted like human jetsam, he thought of Prometheus. Galo, and Prometheus before him, were punished by the gods for their acts of hubris. He looked up and felt himself still, breath coming slower. He wondered to himself if Prometheus, despite his imprisonment, had felt this kind of reverence as he too lay there on an unforgiving mountainside. Had that damaged, forsaken man ever paused in his railing against his chains to admire the glory of this place? Perhaps he too had found that the suffering he endured for his slight against the gods would have been worth it just for the chance to behold this. Colchis and all its land holdings were god-touched, kings and common folk alike knew that. Everything that grew from it was as rich and golden, and Galo felt it was a shame that he would never get to taste any of the things it yielded. He felt robbed. He was still so young, and his life had been so full of promise. He was special, for he had been chosen for this quest by the king himself. It felt like some kind of cosmic slight against him personally, and at that moment he decided that he would get up again. He simply refused to die here. He forced himself to stand, fighting against his own body as the wound in his side ached with the telltale heat of infection. The wound had gone sour from exposure to the elements and sea water, Galo knew. He had to find a way to dig the shrapnel out, but he could not reach it himself. He did not even have the tools to help him with such a task. Perhaps there was a village nearby that would lend him aid, but he could not be sure of which direction to go. It was a gamble he would have to make.

He descended down into the valley, the slope surprisingly gentle where he trod. Here the mountains met like cupped hands, a healthy river, swollen with spring snow melt, flowing between them. The water was fresh and slow-moving, he heard and smelled it long before he saw it. His lips were cracked and bleeding, but he still smiled as he drew closer. He had never been more aware of his thirst than in that moment. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt like the coarse skin of a dogfish by the time he finally reached it. He stumbled into the shallows and fell to his knees in the mud and reeds before cupping his damaged hands to slake his thirst. It was not enough, he could not get enough, and he submerged his entire face in his eagerness to drink. The heat had gotten to him while he had been up on the mountainside, and he drank with all the vigor of a man who thought he would never see water again. He leaned up to strip off his torn shirt, intending to shred it and turn it into bandages, but it fell apart in his hands. It was little more than refuse now. The water was clean enough for his purposes, so he carefully pressed his fingers against the wound, rinsing away the dried, crusted blood and cleaning it as best he could. He spent yet more time probing the area as gently as he could in order to pinpoint the location of the shard. He gasped as he found the jagged edge, barely protruding from his skin. It would take more than just his hands to remove and he felt faint whenever he tried to move it himself. Weary, he made himself press on, following the river’s winding curves toward what he hoped was some semblance of civilization.

Nightfall came on swift and quiet, unrolling over the valley floor like a dense fog. Overcome with fever and dizzy from hunger, he had wandered away from the river’s edge and into the tree line. He couldn’t remember when he had strayed, it did not matter anymore. All that mattered was that he continued to remain upright and put one foot in front of the other, dragging his ragged and weary body along like so much luggage. His legs finally gave out, dropping him to his knees in the center of a copse of trees. The world tilted beneath him as he fell forward, trying to catch his weight on his hands. His face made contact with the dirt, bruising his cheekbone and he began to drift in and out of consciousness. Something glinted from where it hung in the branches, muted and silvery like woven starlight. His aching mind could not process what it was, nor did he hear the soft footsteps that approached him from across the dewy grass. The world was dark for a long time. When he woke again, he heard the sound of trickling water. Not with the slow, rolling strength of the river he had encountered previously, but something high and tinkling like bells as it flowed happily over stones. He tried to sit up, but bit back a yelp of pain when he felt the distinct visceral pull of stitches in his side. Stitches? Sure enough, he looked down and took in the saw-toothed line of thread, placed by a well-meaning but clumsy hand. The dark, angry slash of the sutured wound stood out, prominent and alien against his washed-out skin in the moonlight. He was alone, but he was not the only person here. Something or someone, stood just out of sight in the tree line, unmoving as they observed him. The whole clearing was cast in a pale glow, catching the luminous reflection of eyeshine in the dark. He pushed himself up on his elbows in hopes of getting a better survey of the immediate area. The clearing was ringed by great oak trees, towering over him like the skeletonized ribs of a giant. He was safe here, he decided. There was no reason not to rest. His wound had been dressed and cleaned. It felt less heated than before, and he was no longer delirious. It was a good sign. All he could do now was rest.

He called out quietly and carefully into the early morning dark, “Whoever you are, you should know that I am grateful.”

When morning swung itself up into the sky, bursting its way into Galo’s head as bright sunlight lanced through his closed eyelids. First, he needed to relieve himself, then he would go in search of food. He staggered to his feet and quickly resolved his needs. He elected to wander deeper into the forest, following the call of his growling stomach. Fortune must have decided to smile upon him because finding sustenance was far easier than expected. He had gone a ways off from the spring, coming to a place where the trees thinned out and their canopies did not touch. He could see up ahead that the trees blended seamlessly into rich meadow, a beautiful ocean of tall grasses liberally peppered with wildflowers. He sighted a tree that looked promising, standing out from the others as it hung heavy with figs, ripe and sweet, their scent hanging rich like perfume in the air. He heaved his still weary body up into the low branches to pick a few, before sitting down heavily against its trunk. He bit into the fruit with the relish of a starving man, for that was what he was. He ate without manners or grace, simply devouring the fruit as fast as he had picked it. When he ran out, he could easily stand and collect more, and he planned to eat his fill until he felt dizzy with it. The juices of the fruit dribbled down his chin and the tips of his fingers, sticky and saccharine, staining his lips with a wine-flushed hue. If Galo had been on his guard and had been listening to the sounds of the forest, he would have noticed that it had fallen absolutely silent. Not even birds would sing here, nor would cicadas hum. There was no sign of life, animal or otherwise, in this copse of trees, naught but for Galo himself. There was no sound but for the careful footsteps of cloven feet, picking their way through the forest floor to cautiously approach the man resting at the foot of the tree.

Galo was so lost in the enjoyment of his find that he did not hear it approaching until it was upon him. He only processed the flash of a golden iris and a strange square pupil before the beast was greedily snatching the half-eaten fruit from his hand just as he was about to take another bite. Galo, caught fully by surprise, let out an indignant squawk as he was brazenly robbed by the bold and brave animal, but he did spring to his feet and back away from where it stood over him. The ram was truly enormous, and Galo had never seen its like. Its fleece, which had collected some small twigs and leaves from the forest floor, was so fine and deep in color that it shone bright and gilded in the rays of the early afternoon sun. The animal bleated at him, then chewed what remained of its prize while looking at Galo with a look that, if the creature had not been an animal, Galo would have sworn was smug. It certainly did seem very pleased with itself. “How could you dare to be so cruel? Have you no compassion, beast?” Galo scowled at the animal, who looked at him with a single baleful eye, before continuing to happily munch upon the fruit that he had left behind. When it had taken its spoils, Galo watched with apprehension as the ram approached him, sniffing. It butted its broad horned head into his hand, then his chest, and nudged him toward the tree again. He stared at the animal with his mouth agape, completely incredulous at the fact that it was clearly asking him for a favor, as strange as it was for an animal to do such a thing. Galo put his hands on his hips, refusing to comply with the orders of livestock. The ram snorted, seemingly in annoyance, and backed up as if threatening to charge him, before butting against his hand and chest again. Galo sighed, deep and long-suffering, rolling his eyes but dutifully collected yet more figs from the tree, scowling over his shoulder at the animal that dogged his heels, curious and hungry. He rolled his eyes as the ram looked up at him, head cocked to one side questioningly as if to ask, “Is that all you are going to take?”

Galo sat down, the figs spilling from his hands and into his lap. The ram gently folded its legs under itself, sinking to the ground at his side with far more grace than should be natural to an animal of that size. Galo passed three figs from his pile, placing them in front of the beast in a neat line, and busied himself with his own portion of the take. Had anyone passed by at the time, they would have been treated to the strange scene of a battered, sallow-faced man and a truly impressive ram sharing the foraged meal in companionable silence, like a shepherd and their guardian dog. He whiled away most of the afternoon this way, unaware of how much time had passed. It did not matter, for he had nowhere to be. The ram sat next to him as Galo chatted idly, unmoving but seemingly thankful when he brought more figs to share. Galo realized that he was truly alone for the first time in his life. He had never known loneliness like this, and it was exacerbated by the vastness of the landscape. The forest remained unnaturally still and undisturbed as they kept each other company. When he was finally sated, Galo rested his head against the trunk of this now beloved tree and closed his eyes. He had only intended to rest for a moment, but when he awoke, he found himself alone. He could not decide if he wanted to go back to the spring, or if he should find some way to mark his path back to this tree. It was late in the day now and he lazed about, drawing little pictures in the dirt with a pointed stick to entertain himself. 

Nearing evening, as the sun began to dip its toes into the horizon, he startled to his feet when he heard footsteps approaching, biting his lower lip hard to contain the scream of pain when his stitches pulled in his side. He pressed his hand to it tightly as tension coiled in his body, readying himself to spring. He prepared for an inevitable confrontation but relaxed a fraction when the great ram appeared to him again, slipping between the trees. It stared at him, unblinking, and turned back toward the undergrowth. It bleated at him, sharp and demanding, and Galo relaxed. He cautiously took a step forward, and so did the ram, and Galo took this as a request for him to follow. The ram led him through the dense forest, to a different spring and a shimmering pool. Even with the fading light, he could see that it was surrounded by lush growth, an overladen apple tree bending low near the pool’s edge. How had he not seen this before? How had he missed it? The pool itself was crystal clear and dappled as golden light filtered through the trees, the surface of the water silver in the setting sun. The ram had entered the clearing ahead of him, but was gone now, nowhere to be seen. In the pool, standing out sharply against the deep greenery and ferns of that surrounded the edge of the pool, lounged a man.

He was smaller in stature than Galo by a wide margin, but he was lithe in comparison to Galo’s brawn. His hair was flaxen, bleached light from days beneath the sun but darkened at the ends by the water he lazed about in. His eyes were a color that Galo could not name, for it was a shade that he had never seen before. He searched his mind for its like, but the closest thing he could think of was the pale pastel shades of the sunset sky he had witnessed the day before. This man, with his refined features and marble-pale skin, was beautiful. No, Galo thought, beautiful was not big enough of a word for what he was. His hair fell around his face like an ornate portrait frame. He could not have been of human kin, for there was no way that humanity could produce something so perfect. Galo reeled at the sense of _other_ that surrounded the man, the sense of divinity that hung heavy in the air around him. He wore no clothing, but a neatly folded cloth shift was folded and rested on the stone ledge. Hanging from a low branch near the pool’s edge, hung up like a finely made cloak, rested a fleece. The pelt was fine as the man himself, shining with an almost metallic glint as it caught the golden evening light. The man turned away, giving Galo a view of his well-muscled back and long limbs. Galo stared at him, struck dumb by the mere sight of this person. This man? This godling? It did not matter, Galo felt like he should have averted his eyes but he could not, watching every minute movement as the man stared at Galo with an unreadable expression as he moved to rest his cheek on crossed arms on the stone edge of the pool. The man held his gaze, unblinking until Galo started to feel uncomfortable beneath that level of intelligent scrutiny. The back of his neck felt hot, as if the man before him was staring into his body and looking upon his soul.

A deep, smooth voice resonated inside Galo’s head, echoing alongside his own racing thoughts. _How lovely, to have a visitor after such a long time._ Galo hesitated for a moment, uncertain if he should answer out loud. 

“I apologize, for I did not mean to intrude upon your bathing,” Galo wrung his hands, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Forgive me.” He averted his eyes and felt a blush fan over his face, trying not to stare at the being before him but gods, it was _so_ hard not to.

_There is nothing to forgive, you have not wronged me._ The man smiled, crooked and open as he walked backwards to wade further out into the middle of the pool. He trickled water over his arms, cupping his hands to pour it over his hair. Its brilliant blond color dulled to brown in the water and droplets caught in his long eyelashes. _What has brought you here?_

“My ship was destroyed. I am uncertain if it was caught in a storm or some other calamity befell us, but it was broken on the rocks that border this island,” Galo answered. He was honest, for he was always honest, and he knew no other way to be. “I am the only one of my crew left alive.”

_Such great misfortune,_ the man lamented. He truly sounded like he felt sympathy for Galo’s plight. _But what set your course for Colchis?_ _Surely you would not make such a journey for a mere simple whim._

“We, myself, the crew, and our leader, were tasked with a quest set for us by our honorable king,” Galo replied, unconscious of the fact that he was stepping closer to the edge of the pool. 

_And what of this quest?_ The man before him was playing a game of questions. He looked calm and serene as he lounged lazily in the forest pool, but Galo could not help but feel a sense of dread deep in the pit of his belly. He had a distinct feeling that if he misstepped here, it could spell his end.

“Have you…” he trailed off, and the man smiled as Galo lowered himself to the ground. “Have you heard tell of a treasure known as the golden fleece?” He sat cross legged on the stone ledge, and the man looked up at him with those strange luminous eyes. 

_I have heard rumors of such a thing, yes,_ he replied, sounding as if Galo had said something funny. _News of anything that promises such great wealth and power travels far and fast._

“His majesty believes in such a thing. I find it difficult to believe that something of such great mythos could be real,” Galo scoffed, waving his hand dismissively as he dipped his feet into the water. “That is what we were sent to acquire. Rather, to steal, from King Aeëtes of Colchis.” He sighed in satisfaction as the coolness of the pool soothed his injured feet.

_Aeëtes is a selfish and small man who does not easily part with his treasures, and the fleece is amongst his most valued possessions. You are either very brave or very stupid_ , came the reply. _And have you found the treasure you sought?_

“Hardly,” Galo answered, shaking his head as his mind flashed through the destruction of the ship and how he had nearly died from his wound. It would have been slow and painful, wasting and suffering as his own blood poisoned him. He tried to suppress a shiver but failed. “No. I am alone now. I could not hope to do such a thing on my own.”

_And if you were to find it, would you take it?_ The being asked him, voice tinged with an emotion Galo could not name.

“No,” Galo answered immediately. “It is a frivolous pursuit, coveted only by those foolish enough to desire power without earning it.”

_A wise answer_ , the godling answered as they nodded sagely. The man hummed thoughtfully, drifting back toward the edge. _Now tell me, what more do you know of the golden fleece?_

Galo shrugged, what more was there to know?


End file.
